


Saving Little Harley Stewart

by ianlevitt



Category: Scandal (TV)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 14:19:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6119089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ianlevitt/pseuds/ianlevitt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Cold War. Starts off differently, but there will be Olivia and Fitz. Olivia is married to Edison. The Cold War is just beginning, with the nation of Caesar on the opposing side, and Charlie does something questionable that changes everyone's lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saving Little Harley Stewart

**Author's Note:**

> So, since I lost the plans for the first Little Harley Stewart, I brought him back in this new and possibly improved tale. Everyone is mixed together oddly. But that's what AUs are about.
> 
> This version of the Cold War is the result of the U.S. having issues with the fictional nation of Caesar. Caesar was made so that certain things and events could take place. The tale starts at the root of the Red Scare, which was based on a distrust of Communism and communists. This plays a huge role in the plot, completely.
> 
> This isn't going to be a history lesson, which is another reason why a different country was chosen.
> 
> It does start off with relationships in place, but there will be Olitz and perhaps a splash of Olake as a friendship. There are some odd friendships, some odd partnerships, but you're going to have to read to find out!
> 
> (Tumblr is "ianlevitt")

October 14th, 1948; Design, Caesar

Charlie hadn’t planned to kidnap a baby that day. 

In fact, when he left his grandparents’ lodgings that morning, he dutifully made a beeline for the train station. He had his rucksack, which was all he’d brought along on his random fall trip to Caesar. He phoned his grandparents when he arrived safely at the station. He lingered patiently in the stuffy heat, beside fathers and mothers and their children.

And then he remembered something.

And _then_ he missed his train.

That was how he wound up at St. Taschen’s Hospital in the west side of Design. It was an upscale hospital, worthy of kings and queens, though kings and queens were hard to come by and those that did roam the world would never resort to receiving care in a “public” hospital. The massive building was secured by armed men, who answered to the General Secretary of Caesar. There was novel surveillance scattered throughout the building. Staff and patients needed different security codes to access its five floors.

Charlie had the same number of security codes as the normal Caesar citizen: zero.  
So, how did he gain entry to not only the lobby, but the maternity floor?

Charm. He’d always had charm.

The brunette complimented every doctor he came across, flirted shamelessly with every nurse that crossed his path. He was thrilled, exhilarated, by the rush, the lies he told.

_“I’m Taschen’s great grandson. Can’t you see the resemblance? It’s the eyes. The lashes.”_

_“My wife just gave birth. She didn’t tell me she was going into labor. We’re estranged. Would you happen to know where she is?”_

And so forth. Getting to the maternity ward turned out to be a very time-consuming task. He’d been roaming around the hospital for nearly an hour and a half when he finally came across his final obstacle.

Her name was Cecilia Leone. She was the on-duty nurse watching after the newborns. A brown-eyed blonde, she was more attractive on the outside than she was on the inside. That was, her personality reeked like rotten eggs. From the moment Charlie approached her, she put on her signature glower and crossed her arms, making it evident that she was going to give him a rough time. She was lucky that he liked a challenge. After all, he certainly didn’t need to be a proper gentleman to do what he’d come here to do.

“May I ask your business here, sir?”

Charlie removed his hat and plastered on a polite little smile. “Why, of course you may, Nurse…” He trailed off, squinting to read her plain nametag. It wasn’t frilly and pink like the rest of the nurses’ he’d come across. Perhaps it was a warning, one that he wasn’t planning to heed because there was no need. “Leone,” he finished, in a sort of pleasant drawl.

She looked on, expectantly. “Well? You going to stand there? That your business?”

“No, it is not. I’m here to pick up my child.”

“Where’s your wife?” She made a show of glancing above him, beside him, behind him. “I don’t see her. I also don’t see a doctor’s note.”

Charlie tried to laugh her observation off. She was not amused. “My wife and I are estranged, Nurse Leone,” he divulged, looking down at his shuffling feet for good measure.

“I’m sorry about that.” It didn’t sound like it. “You’ll have to patch things up if you want to see your baby. You could always wait until she takes him or her home. Security measures. You understand, Mr.”

He sighed, dragging his gaze up to meet hers. “Please, call me Charlie.”

“Right. Well, you understand, Charlie.” She wasn’t budging. She had no reason to. 

“I needed to get something to the baby.” Charlie blatantly ignored her dismissal, shrugging off his rucksack. He knelt down as he dug through the contents of the bag. 

“We can’t give anything unauthorized to these babies.” Still, Charlie retrieved a miniature bottle of lemonade from his rucksack. He rose and held it out to the nurse.

“The baby can’t have this.” She deadpanned. Nonetheless, she took it from him.

He quirked a brow. “Oh? My pops had no problem giving it to me when I was born. I guess times change.”

“Yes, they do.” Nurse Leone eyed him, skepticism etched in her features. “Why’d he give you lemonade when you were first born? Quite odd, isn’t it?”

He could’ve sworn he saw her smile.

What a shame. It was far too late for that.

“ _Very_ odd. My grandfather did it to my father when he was born because my father was dehydrated. See, my grandmother gave birth when they were on a trip to the Grand Canyon. My grandfather had drinks galore, but they were miles away from their cabin when my grandmother went into labor.” Nurse Leone rolled her shoulders. She was intrigued. 

“Grandmother pushed my father out quickly. Grandfather severed the umbilical cord with his pocketknife. A few women came by and found them, then they ran off to get help. Everything was fine. 

“Except my father wasn’t crying. My grandfather didn’t have many resources. As it was, all he had with him was a carton of lemonade. He popped it open, trickled some down my father’s throat, and the baby cried.

“Since then, Grandfather and my father have made it a sort of tradition. My grandfather did it to the rest of his children. My father did it to my older brother and sister and me, who in turn did it to their children. I wanted to try it out with my own baby. For luck.”

“This your first child?” Nurse Leone asked thoughtfully, tilting her head as she scrutinized him. Charlie nodded eagerly. “See, that’s beautiful, Charlie. I wish I could let you in there, but I’m under strict orders to--.”

Charlie lifted a hand, signaling that there was no need for an explanation. “I get it. It’s a stupid tradition, anyways. It’s not like the lemonade has healing powers or anything--it’s not like my baby needs any healing, you know?”

She chuckled. “You never know.” She shook the bottle humorously. “I could use a drink, Charlie.” Her tired eyes supplemented the truth in her unasked question.

Easy. “Go ahead. Tell me if it cures anything.” They shared another chuckle.

Nurse Leon opened the bottle and gave him one last look, her eyes twinkling, before she swigged down half the beverage within seconds.

Charlie was still smiling at her when she came up for air. “It’s funny. I never act kindly toward anyone up here. The moment I do, I get…I get…” She wavered. Her body swayed from side-to-side. 

Never cracking his smile, Charlie reached out and took the bottle from her, screwing the cap back on. “You know what else is funny, Nurse Leone?” She could barely turn her head, but she was listening. “I’m an only child.”

Her face fell. She collapsed to the floor.

Charlie unceremoniously stepped over her and entered the room she’d so poorly guarded. There were four children to pick from. One was female. Two were the wrong shade. The last one was just right.

“Hm,” Charlie mused, as he calmly strolled over to the baby’s hospital-assigned crib. A mental countdown clock was activated in his brain, but he acted as if he had all the time he wanted. “Harley,” he read aloud, from the lined-paper sign taped to the side of the bed. “Repetitive. Cute.” When he finally came close enough, the man leaned over and picked the infant up briskly.

The child did not wake. Charlie admired him for a moment: blonde hair, impeccable skin. Perfect. “Harley” was perfect. Had he truly expected any less? 

With a snort, the man settled the child in the crook of his arm and readjusted his rucksack with his free hand. The baby remained asleep. As did the nurse.

Charlie stepped over her unconscious form and paused.

“Sweet dreams, Nurse Leone.” 

He left St. Taschen's just like that, with Harley in hand. Not a doctor looked twice. Not a guard blinked.

They made it all the way to the train station before the baby roused awake, whining. Charlie had had the good sense to nab a few goodies from the nurse's stations: bottles, diapers, wipes, pacifiers, abandoned peach cups. The entire ride to DC, Charlie had one thing after another to silence the infant and put him back to sleep. Quiet was what he needed, to figure out what in the hell he was going to tell Huck and Olivia.

* * *

October 14th, 1948; Washington, DC

Occupying her usual love seat in Olivia and Edison's living room, Quinn  sulked, as she did, over her third lost love that month. She flew through men like a breeze, like they were clouds and she was the sturdiest airplane. Her failed romances had become so commonplace that Olivia was ready with tea and cookies once a week, just in case Quinn came over. She almost always did.

This time, his name was El.

Olivia had become acquainted with him years ago, during her childhood, when she and Quinn and Charlie and Huck exercised their youth together with skillful comradery. El was maybe five years older than they were, at most. He had never left DC, had never hidden himself away from them. Yet, it had taken Quinn all this time to find him. She was convinced that he was the perfect man for her.

Until he informed her, after a number of harmless dates, that he was engaged to be married to a wealthy woman in Virginia.

Quinn was heartbroken. Even so, she never cried. She made it a point not to cry. 

“I’m nothing like you, Liv. I can’t keep them interested.”

Yawning into her palm, Olivia shook her head. “You can, Quinn. You just haven’t found the right one.”

“No wonder, is it? You’ve taken all the good ones.”

It was meant to be a joke.

Olivia hadn’t taken it as one. Quinn was talking about Jake Ballard, a man who lived just down the lane. He and his elder half-brother, Fitzgerald, a top aide to President Truman, first moved into Olivia’s childhood neighborhood when she was a teenager. They’d been around forever, it seemed, and Jake had always had a little crush on Olivia. She paid him no mind until her third year of marriage to Edison, approximately three years after he’d begun taking a liking to the offerings of his numerous mistresses. She was out of her wits that day; Edison had given her the news that she was to be a stepmother to his child with a woman in Mississippi. He hadn’t apologized, and she hadn’t expected him to. But that hadn’t stopped it from hurting her, the fact that he could live with himself just fine, knowing full well that he had been unfaithful to her, that Liv could not have children but his mistress was going to gift to him the baby girl or boy he’d always wanted.

That was how she’d wound up with Jake. It was a mistake, one that they both regretted. They’d continued that cycle, that cycle of making that mistake and regretting it. And it worked well for them.

Quinn’s words on a sober mind brought back feelings of guilt that Olivia was usually prepared to shield herself from.

The pitter patter of rain on the glass windows eased the silence.

“I’m sorry, Olivia.”

Liv chuckled, dismissively, her tone airily tired. “Don’t worry about it. I’d just ask that you keep those kinds of observations to a minimum when Edison is awake.” Not that she was certain he was sleeping. Did it matter? He had to know. He had to have an inkling of what she did when he went off for weeks at a time to visit his bastard son or daughter or whoever--Liv hadn’t ever bothered to find out who the child or its mother was.

Quinn smiled, sadly. “You know I will.” She glanced over at the clock on the nightstand, for show. She knew it was late. “I think it’s best that I get goin--.”

A knock at the door startled them both.

Olivia tightened her gown about her and jolted to her feet. Edison stumbled into the room, bare chested, within moments. He was carrying his shotgun. He’d been waiting to shoot someone since he’d gotten the thing. He had simply never had a reason.

Wordlessly, Edison walked over to the door. Liv motioned for Quinn to stay put and followed. She wrung her hands nervously, watching her husband peer into the peephole. He stepped back and sighed. She knew there was no threat.

“It’s your pal, Charlie,” Edison drawled, clearly upset that his rest had been disturbed by yet another friend of hers. At least Quinn had the decency to drop by when it was some light outside.

Edison happened to like Charlie when he acted like he had some sense and behaved like a normal person. This was not one of those times.

Edison flung open the door, sending Liv stumbling backward. He stepped aside to reveal a drenched Charlie.

He was shivering. He didn’t have his coat on. His coast, as it was, was bundled in his arms, warming up a--baby?

Olivia dragged him inside, and Edison shut the door behind him.

“What is the matter with you, Charlie?” she chided, pushing him into the living room.

Edison shoved past them and headed for the kitchen.

When Olivia and Charlie entered the living room, Quinn registered what was going on and groaned audibly.

“What is _he_ doing here?”

“That’s what I’d like to know.” Olivia eyed him angrily and pushed him down onto the sofa. She unraveled the infant, who was sleeping, and Quinn made a noise of great ire. “Get me some blankets from beside you.” Liv busied herself with getting Charlie’s wet shirt off and resting the baby on a dry spot on the couch until Quinn handed her a mass of cloths.

“Would you mind saying something, Charlie? Telling me what you’re doing showing up at my home, unannounced, with a baby?” She handed two blankets to Quinn.

A look of disgust painted on her visage, Quinn wrapped the baby up and nestled him into the seat she’d formerly occupied.

“See, I--I--.” Charlie stammered. Liv covered him with the sheets and tied them together to better warm him up. He trembled as he looked up at her. The ghost of a smile graced his lips. “I stole him.”

“You stole a baby from the communists?” Quinn exclaimed, throwing her hands up in frustration. Edison came back into the room, but he said nothing.

Charlie grunted and rolled his eyes. He and Quinn had always been at odds, to put things nicely. No one remembered why it had started, no one had the slightest clue as to why it had continued for so long, but no one was bothered by it anymore.

“ _Yes_. Does that bother you?”

“What? Your idiocy?”

“No,” he bit back. “The fact that I can have a child. And you, you know, can’t?”

Olivia couldn’t have stopped the resulting slap if she’d tried.

“Quinn!” She grabbed the other woman’s hands to restrain her. Edison edged toward them, laughing. He clamped a fist down on Charlie’s shoulder--Charlie, whose breathing was labored, as if to keep him from completely exploding.

He was glaring daggers in their general direction.

“Relax. She’s just a little old girl.” Edison looked over at Quinn. “I think it’s time for you to go. Come on, I’ll take you home.”

“You don’t have to do that, Edison.”

“She’s right. You don’t. I’ll take her home,” Charlie spat.

“You’d better come on. Before you have to take him up on that offer.” Edison laughed it off and went for the door.

Quinn exchanged a worried look with Olivia; then, she succumbed to her senses and trailed after Edison into the night, with a “Goodbye” thrown over her shoulder.

The car pulled off a few minutes later.

Olivia turned to Charlie and gave him an expectant expression. She took the seat beside him on the sofa. When he did not react, she went so far as to rest her hand on his covered one. He stared ahead. Guilt was creeping onto his face.

He was just a little boy again, prepared to blame everything he’d done wrong on the fact that he was an orphan.

“I didn’t want to do it,” he said, finally. The look he gave her was so earnest that it nearly broke her heart. “And then I did. Want to do it, that is.” His gaze trailed over to the infant resting on the chair across from them. “I saved his life, Olivia. I did.” 

“You did. And you risked yours to do it.”

Charlie’s lips upturned. He nodded. “I know. Go ahead. Ask me.”

“Okay.” Olivia sat up properly on the couch and sighed. “Why did you go to Caesar for three weeks? Why were you with the communists? I was worried."

“I know. I had to see my grandparents.”

“You see your grandparents all the time. In the summers. _They_ visit _you_.”

He bent down his head. “I couldn’t wait that long,” he lied.

“I see.” Olivia rubbed his back, soothingly, and leaned on his side. “So, whenever you want to tell me the truth, I’m here. In the meantime… What are you going to do with a baby?”

Charlie got quiet again. That was answer enough. Olivia bolted up and shook her head, profusely. “No. _No_ , Charlie.”

“ _Please_?” He shoved off the cloths and knelt down on the floor, holding his palms out to her. “I can’t take him back there, Liv. And they’ll be looking for me if I keep him. Just… just… think… Don’t you want a kid?”

“Of course I do, Charlie. But I don’t want a stolen kid.” 

“Not for me?”

“Not for you.”

“Think about it, please? Will you?” He rose to his feet. 

“I’ll entertain it. But I’ll have to ask Ed.” She looked out the window. He wasn’t back yet. “Are you two going home tonight?” 

“I think so.” 

“Oh? Did you walk here?”

“I did.” 

“Then, I think not.” She narrowed her eyes and tossed the blankets to him. “Make yourself comfortable on the sofa. I’ll take care of--.” 

“Harley.”

“Right. I’ll take care of him tonight.

"On a trial basis.”


End file.
